Thursday when I wake up well fed and rested I am simply determined to not strike a lasting mark. I want to eat an egg tart in China Town, ride the bus around. Everything seems deceptively metronomic but I know when I look back this time will have been lightening pace like one flutter of notes, and today, with my mom and my niece I just want to not feel rushed.
In the afternoon I leave them downtown to go meet Brandon for a drink just up the street from my uncles house. A few minutes later my mother pokes into the patio where we are seated and insists we come back to the house for dinner.
Moments like these are stultifying because I compartmentalize on the premise that someone will always behave badly, that they speak different languages, at least undecipherable dialects at each other or mention that I peed the bed once when I was seven. Agh. Brandon accepts.
Natch. Things go swimmingly. My uncle is a cranky professor but is nevertheless charmed by Brandon. We talk physics, metaphysics and drink wine. My aunt brings us out onto the deck to see the moon over Lake Washington. I never feel the need to kick shins under the table not even once.
Shortly after dinner Brandon and I leave, go have a beer then say our goodbyes.
I get him out of the house and away from my family just in the nick of time. When I go back in all the family photos are out, and the potential for disaster is spread around the office. Eek.
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